I Finally Understand

My whole life (or at least a large part of what I remember) I've eaten dinner at what most people might call a very late hour. You see, growing up, 8:30 or 9 p.m. was normal dinner time for my family. There were extenuating factors most of the time — my ballet classes that didn't end until 8 or 9 at night or soccer practice or dad teaching a night class — and since a whole family dinner was important to us, that usually meant it was late.

But then, I went to college and after weeks and months and years of a 5:15 p.m. dinner, I came home expecting (or at least hoping for) something similar. But lo and behold, despite a lack of ballet and biology classes and other evening commitments, dinner time was still at 9. I mean seriously. Come on people! I'm hungry.

I finally came to the conclusion that my parents just liked to come home from work and relax, foregoing a meal before the sun set for an evening of crossword puzzle solving, beer drinking, and cat watching next to the fire (in the winter) or bird watching on the deck (in the summer). Not something I (or my growling tummy) especially loved, but something I had been trained for years to endure. Love you m&d.

But now here I am. I've turned into them.

I got home from class tonight at about 10:05 and, despite the fact that I was utterly starving, the first thing I did was sit down on the couch and relax with my new issue of Entertainment Weekly for a good half hour. Now, it's 10:39 and I've only just put the water on the stove to cook my tortellini.

I guess I understand you now mom and dad... it only took 24 years.